The Great Fetish

8

Hours passed. The clouds began to break up, both above and below the balloon. The setting Muphrid shot golden lances through the gaps, gliding the bag of the balloon as well as the underside of the overcast. Marko, looking down upon the leaden sea, cried:

“Dr. Halran! An island!”

Halran looked. In the crawling waste of waters, half hidden by fracted scud clouds, a darker mass appeared ahead.

Halran, frowning over his homemade chart, said: “A large one, Marko. I think the wind will carry us over it.”

“Shall we land there?”

“We shall have to. Otherwise this storm will carry us far over the sea, and when we run out of peat we shall have to descend willy-nilly. The only thing that concerns me is the reception we shall receive.”

“Why,” said Marko, “there’s nothing to fear from a handful of fishermen.”

“If I am not in error, that is the Isle of Mnaenn.”

“You mean the one with the witches?”

“That is what they are called, though what they really are like I cannot say. The only visitors they allow are those who come to practice oneiromancy in their Temple of Einstein and to purchase spells and potions.”

“What is oneiromancy?”

“Divination by dreams. You sleep in the temple and next day tell the witches your dream to interpret.”

“Do you believe in that sort of thing, Doctor?”

“I think it is superstitious nonsense, but I could be mistaken. There is much about which we cannot issue definitive dicta. Of course, some of the witches’ customers are attracted less by the witches’ alleged magical powers than by the fact that they include as part of their fee that the visitor shall be ultimate with them.”

“Why do the witches want visitors to be intimate with them?”

“Because it is an all-female society, and that is their only method of maintaining their numbers.”

Marko said: “I shouldn’t think many visitors would mind. At least, those who weren’t from my country, where moral standards are stricter. But why hasn’t some neighboring ruler annexed the island? A handful of women couldn’t stop a conqueror, even if the girls were armed.”

“Ah, but they can. The island is surrounded by tall cliffs, with only one or two landing places. The girls would have ample time to drop boulders on the heads of any invaders.”

Marko shaded his eyes and peered towards the land they were nearing. “That’s funny.”

“What is so risible?”

“I see no cliffs. This island—if it be an island—has broad beaches.”

“Oh!” said Halran, peering in his turn. “You are correct, as nearly as my cursed eyesight can make it out. Besides, this island is much too large for Mnaenn.”

“What is it, then?”

“Afka, I suppose, unless there are other islands in this part of the Medranian that I know not of. Afka lies south and east of Mnaenn. Good gods, we must have flown right over Mnaenn without seeing it!”

“I’ve heard of Afka but don’t know much about it. What’s it like? We never go there, because the Afkans are said to be unfriendly to strangers.”

Halran shrugged. “Not much more is known in Anglonia. The populace is said to be dark of skin and too proud to mingle with the lesser breeds. Well, we shall soon learn. Get ready to bring us down. I say, what’s that?”

“What?”

“It looks like a stupa forest. But we could not possibly have been blown clear to the Borsja Peninsula!”

“Are you sure that is the only place where those big trees grow, Doctor?”

“No one is ever certain, but we shall soon find out. Valve some more air, please.”

The balloon settled gently to the mossy ground, between the curving beach and the looming forest. The trees were unmistakable stupas, although but a fraction of the size of those on the Borsja Peninsula. The latter reached a height of a thousand feet. On the other hand, these trees were far larger than the dwarf stupas of the civilized lands.

Marko and Halran were still folding and tying up the bag, when men approached and surrounded them. These were big men, with skins of so dark a brown as to look black. Their kinky black hair was trimmed into fanciful shapes. They carried spears and crossbows. The leader, in a kind of scarlet toga, gestured and spoke threateningly.

After Marko and Hakan had tried several languages between them, it was found that one of the spearmen spoke a little Vizantian. With this man as interpreter, the leader conveyed the word that the foreigners were to come with him.

“What about my balloon?” asked Halran.

“You will not long care what happens to it,” said he of the toga. “Now march!”

The other black men formed a hollow square around the travelers. They marched in step, keeping rigid formation, to the leader’s chant of “Moja, mbili, tatu, ine, moja, mbili, tatu, ine. …” -

“What have you gotten us into now?” grumbled Marko.

“Oh, dear, oh, dear! Do not blame me; blame the storm. But I admit I was a fool, not to have landed as soon as the weather got thick. We may be doomed for all I know; these beggars have a bad reputation.”

“Well, let’s keep our eyes and ears open. Something may come up.”

Halran sighed gustily and shook his head. “Ah, me, never to see my dear ones again!” Then he jerked up his head. “By Newton, that’s curious!”

“What is?”

They had entered the forest and marched along a straight path. Among the trunks of the stupa trees, on all sides, ran a system of pipes, supported at eye level by posts. From the joints of these pipes, a gentle spray of water moistened the forest floor.

“So that is how they keep their woods from burning up!” said Hakan.

“How do you mean?”

“You know, Marko, that the Borsja Peninsula is the only place, so far explored, that produces decent hardwood in quantity. The reason is the extreme dampness, with constant rain and fog. Since forest fires cannot get started, the trees can grow undisturbed for thousands of years—unless some greedy enterpreneur, like your Sokrati Popu, cuts them all down. So these people, finding that they had a good stand of hardwood, have taken measures to protect it, making Afka into a kind of artificial Borsja.”

“I can tell you something else,” said Marko. “They didn’t find these trees here. They planted them.”

“Really! How do you know?”

“Look at those even rows! No natural forest ever grew in a formation like that.”

Halran wiped his glasses. “By the gods, you are right! With my weak sight, I should never have noticed in this inadequate light. The Afkans must have an advanced technology.”

Thereafter, the travelers had to save their breath for walking. Their captors, surrounding them with spears warily leveled, set a brisk pace. Both were weary and footsore when, over an hour later, they came to the end of the forest.

Ahead lay cultivated fields, from which Afkans were on their way home to supper. They marched in gangs, each under control of an overseer with a whistle.

In the twilight, the fields gave way to a perfectly square town. Houses of timber and plaster, of severely plain, square, monotonous design, were set on streets laid in a square grid pattern. An Afkan was lighting lamps at the street corners with a long-handled device.

“Not what one would call charm,” said Hakan. “It is like an overgrown barracks.”

“At least,” said Marko, recalling the tangled alleys of Niok and Lann, “it should be easy to find one’s way around.”

The escort stopped in front of a building, distinguished from the rest only by its greater size. A pair of sentries, armed with swords and crossbows, stood rigidly hi front of the entrance. The lamplight gleamed on their polished bronzen cuirasses and helmets.

He of the toga went in. After a long wait, he returned with several others of his kind.

“Follow us,” he said through the interpreter.

Inside, the building was bare and functional. The travelers were ushered into a large room. Black men sat impassively hi chairs. Marko and Halran remained standing, each with a pair of spearmen to guard him.

For the next hour, the travelers were minutely questioned about their origin, their purpose, and the nature of Halran’s flying machine. Their inquisitors at first all looked alike to Marko, the more so since they never allowed a flicker of expression to ruffle their dignity. By and by, however, he began to distinguish them. One man, a little shorter and stouter than the others, seemed to be an object of deference.

Then another black arrived. This was an elderly man in a white toga, with a conical hat on his kinky gray hair. He spoke to the inquisitors and then, in good Anglonian, to the travelers.

“We can dispense with this clumsy interpretation,” he said. “I am Ndovu, high priest of Laa. That”—he indicated the stout man—“is Chaka, the Kabaka of Afka. The others are his ministers. I was absent when you arrived but came as soon as I heard. Repeat, briefly, what you have told the Kabaka.”

“Please sir, may we sit down?” said Halran. “I am ready to faint with weariness.”

Ndovu nodded and spoke to the spearman, who brought stools. When Halran had been through his tale once again, the high priest said: “It is plausible. You say this flying device is your invention?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hm. It is too bad that we shall have to kill a man of your gifts, Professor.”

“Oy! What have we done to deserve this fate?”

“You have set foot on the sacred soil of Afka, that is what you have done. For hundreds of years, we have published abroad the fact that we want no contact with outsiders and that any who come here without special authorization are liable to death. You have aggravated your offense by not only coming here but also by inventing a device whereby others could easily do likewise, thus imperiling our isolation.”

“Why are you so insistent on your precious isolation?”

“To preserve the purity of our blood. If outsiders were let in, sooner or later one would contract a liaison with one of our women. Our racial integrity would be threatened.”

Marko spoke: “How long have we, sir?”

“Until morning. We do things here hi proper order, and it will take that long for the courts to process your case. But see here, my man, it is for us to ask questions, not you!”

The high priest spoke to the guards, who began to hustle Marko and Halran out.

“Holy Father!” cried Halran. “At least you owe us —ah—spiritual consolation, don’t you?”

As the guards hesitated, the high priest gave a faint smile—the first expression that Marko had yet seen on an Afkan face. “I suppose so. I shall visit you later this evening, after the supper you so inconveniently interrupted.”

When Ndovu came to their cell, he said: “I take it that the true faith of Laa is not known in your barbarous land?”

“Indeed not, sir,” said Hakan. “Enlighten us, I pray.”

“Well, in the beginning Laa created the heavens and the earth. He also created the first man and woman, named Kongo and Kenya respectively.

“For many centuries, the descendants of Kongo and Kenya dwelt happily in the land. Then some of the people fell into sinful ways. I do not have tune for all the details, but suffice it to say that Laa cursed these sinful ones by bleaching their skins. Before then, all mankind had been black, like us.

“More time passed. Then the cursed ones, the paleskins, waxed in numbers. By a sudden onset, they overcame the virtuous blackskins and made slaves of them. For many generations, they forced the blackskins to labor at menial tasks.

“At last, Laa sent the captive blackskins a leader, named Mozo, to lead them out of captivity. Mozo warned the king of the paleskins that, unless he let Laa’s chosen people go, the king’s folk would suffer grievous chastisement.

“But the king did not believe this. He drove Mozo out with scorn and insults. As a result, his folk were afflicted with incursions of transors and other pests, drouth, epidemics, and other misfortunes. After seven of these plagues had befallen the paleskins, their king at last agreed to let Laa’s folk go. So they went forth under the guidance of Mozo.

“Then the king repented him of having yielded to Mozo’s threats and set out in pursuit with his army. But, when the blackskins came to the shores of the Medranian Sea, Mozo prayed to Laa, who parted the waters of the sea. Thus Laa’s folk crossed over to Afka dry-shod. But when the king of the paleskins and his army sought to follow, the waters returned and drowned them all.

“Ere he died, Mozo called his people together and propounded a code of laws for them. Amongst these laws, besides the usual prohibitions of lying, theft, murder, impiety, and so on, he ordained that all Af-kans must be efficient, energetic, and industrious. They must arm to the teeth and be ready at all times to defend themselves and the land that Laa had given them.

“The cursed ones had enslaved them, he said, because they had taken life too easily. In enjoying life, they had let the paleskins get ahead of them in organization and technology. This, he said, must never happen again. It is ordained that, the more a man gives up the pleasures of life in this world, the greater shall be his pleasures in Earth.”

“You Afkans seem like a grimly puritanical lot,” said Halran, “if you will excuse my saying so.”

Ndovu beamed. “No apologies needed. What you say is high praise here. Now, Mozo also insisted upon the racial purity of the folk, if they wished Laa to continue to love and protect them. During then: time of slavery, there had naturally been some mixture between the two races, so that many blackskins were actually of paler shades. Ever since, if a newborn infant betrays paleskin blood by its color, it is destroyed. Thus we have weeded out nearly all trace of the blood of the cursed ones, and we are determined to maintain this purity at all costs. Now do you understand?”

The cell was clean, but the bars were stout and the lock unpickable, at least with any means the travelers had to hand. The guards in the corridor had no words in common with the prisoners and ignored their efforts at communication. Hakan bemoaned his lot.

After a restless night, Marko and Hakan were led out at sunrise, with their wrists tied behind them. At the scaffold, they found High Priest Ndovu awaiting them.

“I thought that such gifted outsiders as yourselves deserved spiritual consolation at the highest level,” he said. “Let us join in a prayer to Laa, the merciful, the compassionate.”

During the prayer, the executioner kept testing the edge of his ax with his thumb. Halran’s teeth chattered audibly. Marko miserably felt that there was something he could say that would avert their fate, only he could not quite think what it was. Ndovu droned:

“… and so, as your heads fall, may your souls fly to the realms above with the speed of a bolt from a crossbow—”

“Sir!” cried Marko. “Listen to me!”

“Yes, my son?”

“Look, you hold it against us for inventing the balloon, don’t you?”

“Yes. I explained that.”

“Well, if we invented something that would help you to keep outsiders away, wouldn’t that make up for it?”

“Hm,” said Ndovu. “What have you in mind?”

“If it works, will you let us go?”

“I cannot promise that; the cabinet and the supreme court would have to concur.”

“Well, ask them.”

The executioner spoke. “Holy Father, I cannot stand around all morning. I have my orders.”

Ndovu said: “Well, I will grant you a one-day reprieve on my own authority; we are a just people. But this had better not be a ruse, merely to gain a few days of life.” He spoke to the guards, who led Marko and Halran back to their cell. When they were alone again, Halran said: “What is this, Marko? I hope you were not merely bluffing. If you were, they may find some more lingering finish for us.”

“I hope I wasn’t, either. It was that last remark of his, about crossbow bolts.”

“Well?”

“These people have the crossbow, just as ours do. It struck me that, if we could make an oversized crossbow, mounted on some sort of frame or pedestal, it could shoot bolts the size of spears, and much farther than any ordinary missile weapon.”

“What were the purpose? These folk seem militaristic enough without our adding to their arsenal.”

“Some of these supercrossbows, mounted around the coasts of this island, should discourage unwanted visitors.”

Halran mused: “I seem to remember something in the old literature about such a device. It was called a ‘gun’ or a ‘catapult.’ As I remember, however, it discharged with a flash and a clap of thunder and hurled a ball of metal.”

“We have none of these legendary weapons, but the Afkans have plenty of good, strong wood to make a big crossbow from.”

So it came to pass that, a few days later, Marko Prokopiu and Boert Halran stood again on the northern shore of Afka, watching a squad of Afkan soldiers inflate their balloon. The high priest said:

“I should have liked you to remain until your shooter was completed and tested. I have enjoyed our conversations and the news you have brought of the outside world. Luckily, I am deemed holy enough”—Ndovu smiled faintly—“not to have my soul endangered by intercourse with cursed ones.”

“Thank you, Holy Father,” said Halran.

Ndovu continued: “Colonel Mkubwa is sure that, having grasped the principle of your device, he can, with the help of our skilled craftsmen, complete it himself. The Kabaka is anxious to get you off our sacred soil, lest you steal out and impregnate our women. It is a common belief that all paleskins are superhumanly lusty and incorrigibly lecherous.”

“Now it is you who flatter us,” said Halran.

When the balloon was filled, and Marko and Hal-ran climbed into the basket, the high priest called out: “Laa be with you!” and waved. The mild southeast breeze carried the balloonists off Afka in the direction of Lann. Halran said:

“I have never been strong for priests; but, of the Afkans, Ndovu seemed the most human of the lot. It would not do to tell him so, though. He wouldn’t take it as a compliment.”